


Your destiny, your childhood, what you decide to bury

by cm (mumblemutter)



Series: To Be Continued [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Clint get domestic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your destiny, your childhood, what you decide to bury

1.

Stark lends them the keys to one of his cabins in the middle of nowhere, like it's no big deal, which to him it obviously isn't, and she drives while Clint dozes in the back seat.

They stop a gas station at some point, and there's just a flicker of recognition in the clerk's eyes as he rings up her order, but it's enough that she hides her hair under a cap for the rest of the journey. She buys vodka mostly, snacks. Clint buys random stuff, and says, "Do you remember Düsseldorf?"

"This is not at all like Düsseldorf."

"For one thing, no-one's trying to kill us."

"Yet. The week's not over." He pauses. "But I was glad you were there to have my back."

Natasha grabs the bag of chips from him. "Don't get fucking sentimental, Barton," she says.

 

2.

The drive takes two days. Clint says they should have flown, but Natasha's done with flying things for a while. The first night in their motel room Clint says, "Are you sure this was a good idea?"

"Fury practically begged me to take you away. Muttered something about stockpiled vacation days?"

"Employee benefits, really?"

There's always work to be done after the fighting is over, always the clean-up to take care of. This feels like running away, but she can't think about that right now. Instead she says, "The guy at the counter told me we have massage beds. I had to pay extra for it."

Clint shakes his head. "You were always a sucker, Romanov." But he pops coins into the slots and crawls into the bed anyway. "It's not so bad," he says after a while.

"See, I told you this was a good idea."

 

3.

Stark said it was "a little cabin in the woods," but after they park the car they both get out and stare up at it for a while. Finally Clint says, "I expected it to be bigger."

"I find that is always my problem," Natasha replies, fetching her bag out of the car.

"Just to be clear, Stark is a jackass, right?"

"Yes. Mostly. He has his moments." She grins and hands Clint his own bag. "Come on, let's have a look around."

The place is excessively luxurious, but it's Stark and Natasha hadn't truly expected anything else. It doesn't make a difference to Natasha: she takes note of escape routes and tests the security system, and chooses the room with the fewest weak spots. Clint takes the one next door. It's the second best room in the house, and he smiles when it's dusk and they're both ready for bed. "Goodnight, Romanov."

"Night, Barton."

 

4.

Natasha doesn't sleep much the first few nights, and neither does Clint. They bump into each other: on the way to the bathroom, wandering into the kitchen, throwing wood onto the dying fire in the living room. Natasha doesn't need much sleep, hasn't in years, but Clint -

"You should rest."

Clint just rubs his hands together, palm to palm. "We've been through worse, haven't we? Haven't you?"

"I'm not really in the mood to reminisce." She touches him on the arm. "You should sleep."

"I close my eyes," he says, "and I wonder, will I wake up someone else?"

"You won't." She drops her arm, and he grabs her fingers briefly, lets go. "I promise. I'll be there if that happens. I'll take care of it."

"I know," he says. "I know."

 

5.

They've known each other long enough that Clint knows better than to touch her, and vice versa, although - "How's your head," she asks, her hand hovering over the bruises blossoming on his face.

"It's fine."

He asks, in the end, politely but without hesitation. Searching her face, and she can't bring herself to move back. Just says, "Not a good idea, Clint," but when he nods his head and turns away she grabs his wrist. "We can regret this tomorrow."

 

6.

Her bedroom, not his. Safest room in the house. Clint pushes her down onto the bed and undresses her slowly, until she gets impatient and yanks off his clothes. Then he just laughs, as if he's only just remembering how, trails his lips down her throat, past her sternum. She reaches for the headboard but it's hand-carved wood so she clutches at the sheets instead, gasps when he kisses her belly.

"You trust me," he asks.

"Yes," she says automatically, and lets her head fall back as he pushes her knees apart, lowers his head.

 

7.

Natasha's not used to the quiet, not used to the aimless feeling of nothing to accomplish besides getting through the day. They have a fully stocked kitchen and Clint cooks while she sits on a stool with her leg pulled up and a glass of wine in her hand, watching him and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The only thing of note that happens is Fury calling them, and it's not to send them on an assignment.

"How's Phil," Natasha asks. She visited before they left: he seemed fine, if impatient to get out of the hospital.

"Good. If he doesn't get a heart attack from the excitement of Rogers paying him a daily visit, he'll probably fully recover." Fury also tells them that Stark has decided to build a floor for each Avenger in the Stark tower.

"What do I need an entire floor for," Clint asks.

"Calisthenics?"

"I can do that anywhere."

Natasha shrugs. "Not an obligation, I don't think. Just a place if you need it."

"I thought you didn't like Stark."

"Grows on you."

"Doesn't he."

Natasha hugs her knees closer to her chest. It means as much as this place does: somewhere to rest her head, that's all. You can't come in from the cold, is what she's learnt over the years. But sometimes you can find shelter for the night.

 

8.

There's a giant flatscreen in one of the dens. They watch the news at first, flipping from one channel to another and then back again.

Clint quietly switches the TV off one afternoon and says, "Enough of that."

There's a channel that plays nothing but movies from the golden age, and after dinner Natasha curls up on the couch next to him and they watch Ingrid Bergman and Gary Cooper fall in love in technicolor. "I never watched these," Natasha says.

"Not enough people do. In your case I'll cut you some slack."

She dozes off sometimes, curled up on the couch. Wakes up once, sweating and clawing at him, and he doesn't try to pin her down, just says, "Hey, hey," until Natasha recognizes his face and calms the fuck down.

"I'm sorry," she says, the embarrassment crawling under her skin like blood.

"You're all right," is all Clint says in reply.

"No," she says. This isn't like her at all. It won't happen again. She shakes her head at him, and he reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"We can watch another movie. Casablanca is up next, I think."

"Okay."

 

9.

Sometimes she sits on his lap and rides him, and he holds her like she's something delicate he could break. She squeezes her eyes shut so she can't see him looking at her, and buries her face in his throat.

The orgasm is unexpected, and it makes her shake.

 

10.

Natasha finds him on the pier overlooking the lake on the edge of the property, and according to his file Stark owns acres and acres of the land surrounding them, bought by his father decades ago and left mostly untouched. Natasha hasn't seen this kind of beauty in a while.

He tells her, "It was so easy. It wasn't even that I couldn't struggle. I didn't want to."

She doesn't say anything at first, just sits down next to him and hands him a bottle of vodka. He takes a swig and grimaces. "This is disgusting. Can't Stark afford anything better?"

"No, this is mine. It's Russian, made in my hometown. I think it means something, but it doesn't. I haven't been home since I was a child."

"But you keep drinking it."

"Yeah." She shrugs and takes the bottle back from him. It's ice cold, and that's the only good thing about it. "I've just gotten used to the taste I guess."

Clint says, "Enough time, you get used to anything."

"Yup," she says, and puts her head on his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "[Trading For Heaven](http://www.universeofpoetry.org/usa_p2.shtml#english4)" by Li-Young Lee.


End file.
